Statistica
by fiesa
Summary: It's not like he memorizes every single one of the many numbers and facts he sees every day. ThreeShot- Shikamaru, Ino (Team Ten). Growing up, looking back is the simplest thing to do. And the hardest.
1. Calculations

**Statistica**

 _Summary: It's not like he memorizes every single one of the many numbers he sees every day. ThreeShot- Shikamaru, Ino (Team Ten). Growing up, looking back is the simplest thing to do. And the hardest._

 _Warning: Complete in three chapters. Konoha facts are invented (but not unfounded), scientific, social or similar facts might come from actual statistics._

 _Set: Story-unrelated._

 _Disclaimer: Standards apply._

* * *

 _ **i. Calculations**_

The village of Hidden Leaf in the south-west part of Fire Country had a square footage of 2.98 square kilometers and was home to 25,131 inhabitants. It had been founded by Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama one hundred and eleven years before and had become the biggest and politically most influential of all shinobi villages. It had survived three great wars and many internal and external challenges and had emerged victoriously from most of them. In this village, men had given life to children who had grown into men who had watched their children grow.

Cycle after cycle after cycle.

* * *

Nara Shikaku was muttering under his breath, but his face betrayed nothing.

On their entire way back home, he didn't turn to face his son. Shikamaru didn't mind. He knew his father was keeping a close lid on his emotions, not because he didn't want to let go but because he was weary of the possible audience he would have. It stung and, at the same time, made him happy: his father didn't want to embarrass him in public, though he had every right to do so. So he followed behind quietly, the voices in his own head whispering their own mantra of shame. Only when they reached the Nara house, had entered and taken off their shoes, and Shikamaru had stopped in the door to the living room, waiting for the inevitable explosion, his father turned towards him and spoke.

"You have to show more consideration, Shikamaru." His dark eyes burned into his son's. "This isn't just a game. This is a village running on the sweat, tears, blood and combined efforts of all those people you met today. On good days, they will only squabble, on bad days they might sentence a whole squad of shinobi to death. And they don't do it lightly, believe me. I've been with them since my father took me to the council meetings, and I've seen them at their best and their worst. There are people like Danzou, sometimes, who you can't trust. But overall, the Konoha Council is made up of trustworthy, intelligent and caring people who'd never make a decision lightly. You just can't butt in like that and anger them." His face was a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

 _I know, I know,_ Shikamaru repeated in his mind and lowered his head. _I know it was stupid. I just couldn't help myself._

 _"_ It won't happen again, Father."

As if his father had read his mind, he sighed, lifted a hand and patted Shikamaru's head, mussed his hair as if he still was twelve years old and not sixteen.

"I know you know it was a mistake. Learn from it and don't repeat it the next time."

When he looked up, he saw fondness in his father's eyes, and more: pride.

"To be honest, your first day was much more spectacular than my introduction into the Council. My father said it was rather boring, even. I bet he wished he'd taken my younger brother. I always thought I managed to convince him of my worth, at one point. But you knew your grandfather."

The wistful note in his father's words had Shikamaru look away again, uncomfortable.

"You could never please him."

Shikaku's fists tightened and released, again. When he met his son's eyes, he smiled.

"I'm proud of you, Shikamaru. You'll do well. I know it."

* * *

Of the total amount of inhabitants in Hidden Leaf, 47.1% were men.

2.5% were children between ten and fifteen, kids either attending a public school or the Academy. 1.7% were the teenagers between fifteen and eighteen, and that was the group Shikamaru belonged to right now. The generation that had been born into peace and had grown up in peace, the ones that would have to defend peace, too, when it came to it. But that wasn't important right now. Right now all the expectations and all the wishes and dreams of his parents and the Elders rested on Shikamaru's shoulders, all those grave mistakes his parents had made and didn't want him to repeat, and all the things he himself had seen and had loaded onto his shoulders so he would never forget. Shikamaru had seen people die. He had failed missions and had been defeated: and all those things had only made him more stubbornly determined to not fail. He was young, they were old. They had no idea what they were talking about, always moaning and cursing about the youth and how they had no respect. With all due respect: sometimes adults were wrong, too, and sometimes even people who had lived a long life and had seen many things made mistakes, as well. Had it not been Shikamaru who had told them so, they would never have reacted like that. As it was, he was _young and impertinent, Shikaku, make sure your son keeps his tongue the next time._ With all due respect.

Shikamaru returned the respect he received.

 _(Looking back, being a teenager had been so easy.)_

* * *

"You did _what_?" Ino stared at him, wide-eyed and flabbergasted. "You called the Council a _kindergarten_?"

"Actually I didn't," Shikamaru said, stiffly. "I said, every child in kindergarten knew what they wanted wasn't possible."

Blue eyes continued to stare, incredulous, until Ino broke into wild laughter. "Oh, wonderful," she gasped after forty-three seconds. "Wait till Chouji hears this. He'll love it."

"Troublesome," Shikamaru muttered and pushed his hands into his pockets.

Ino, who had recovered from her spontaneous laughing fit but still was snickering, patted his back. "I think that's what they can call _a grand entrance_ , don't they? I doubt they'll ever forget who will be the next head strategist and advisor to the Hokage once your father retires."

Miffed, Shikamaru dropped onto one of the two high stools behind the counter of the Yamanaka flower shop. Ino had shop duty that afternoon. Back home and suffocating in the atmosphere of mixed emotions his father was emitting after the Council meeting, Shikamaru had pretended to need to talk to Ino. He'd escaped safely – but now he had to deal with his team mate, instead. Shortly he wondered what would have been the smaller evil.

"He's grooming you as his only son and heir," Ino said, calmer, somehow sensing – in that weird, spot-on intuition that was hers – the actual reason for his discomfort. "I wonder…"

"What?" Shikamaru asked when her voice trailed off. Ino's eyes were unfocused and directed towards the bit of blue sky that was visible beyond the shop window and the display of colors and green.

She caught herself and smiled. "Nothing."

Nothing special.

* * *

When Shikamaru was nine he learned that five to ten percent of newborn children possessed an eidetic memory. There were other names for it, of course: photographic memory, for example, or – cue dramatic drumroll – total recall. Actually, there was nothing special about it. Having an eidetic memory meant the ability to recall images, sounds or objects with great precision for several minutes after the event. As children grew older, the ability faded, and only few adults had proven to possess such a superior memory skill. With him, it stayed, even after he outgrew his first chuunin vest. It was troublesome, to say the least.

* * *

"Surprisingly, you're not only on time but you're early," Chouji greeted him in while walking onto the bridge. Shikamaru sat on the railing, his legs dangling over the edge, and was leaning back to look into the sky.

"Surprising my ass," he muttered.

"No, really, it is," Chouji said and balanced his heavy body onto the railing, facing into the same direction as Shikamaru. "You're so intent on proving you don't care that you always show up right on time, never too early, never too late. Did you know it is far more difficult to actually be on time?"

Paper rustled and Shikamaru smelled the familiar scent of late breakfast.

"Have one," Chouji said and held out his paper bag. Eight sandwiches were neatly stacked inside, smelling faintly of fresh lettuce, cheese and tomatoes. The ritual was the same: two sandwiches for Shikamaru, which he ate without a comment. One for Ino, which she would first refuse and later eat with gusto. Two for Asuma-sensei, sometimes, and the rest for Chouji, and if Asuma declined the offer Chouji would eat his share, as well. It had started when they became a genin team, on their very first day, and they had kept the tradition. Mainly because Chouji's mother made delicious sandwiches.

They sat in comfortable silence, enjoying their meal, when hasty steps announced Ino's arrival.

"Do you always have to eat?"

Shikamaru rolled his eyes while Chouji chewed and swallowed and offered her the bag. "Hi, Ino."

"No thanks," she immediately returned and climbed onto the railing besides Shikamaru. "I've just had breakfast."

Shikamaru didn't say that Ino's breakfast was made up of a cup of tea and a bowl of cereal with milk. At least she _was_ eating something. For some time, she'd refused to eat breakfast at all.

"Eat or we won't train with you," Shikamaru told her and returned her glare disinterestedly. "You know what happened the last time."

"Don't order me around," she shot back but took the sandwich. Chouji smiled without comment.

Shikamaru sighed. "Troublesome."

Ignoring his comment – except for an icy glare he was all too used to – Ino launched into a retelling of her weekend activities; meetings, thoughts and clothing items all inclusive. Chouji was chewing contentedly while Shikamaru tried to tune her out, as usual, and failed. As usual. There was something in the way Ino spoke that made him listen. Survival instinct, he supposed, because…

"Shikamaru!" Ino's voice was dangerously quiet. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered in direction of the river. "Sakura misses Naruto but pretends she doesn't. Tenten developed a new technique to store weapon-unrelated things in scrolls. The weather was nice. You want a mission. The hell, Ino, let us enjoy the silence a bit."

Her elbow met his side, buried itself between his second and third left rib and stayed there for a second for good measure. Used to this kind of response, he merely groaned quietly.

"If you don't grow up soon it'll be even more troublesome for us than it is already."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She demanded, her head shooting into the air. She glared at him angrily. "Are you saying I'm immature?"

"I'm only saying-" Shikamaru started.

"What? Just because you already made chuunin doesn't mean you got maturity in buckets, Nara Shikamaru. In fact, look at you. You didn't look that calm when those girls from town were trying to get you to go out with them…"

 _That was low._ Shikamaru's eyes shrank to slits. "And if you think you're mature just because you go out with a different guy every three months…"

"We're having a barbecue at home next weekend," Chouji interrupted them, his voice cheerful and nothing in it giving away that he had heard any second of their soon-to-be fight. "You'll be there, right?"

"I don't like meat," Ino grumbled.

"Whatever," Shikamaru answered, his eyes rolling, "then stop eating it for Heaven's sake!"

"That wouldn't be healthy," Ino objected. "And besides, my father would go nuts if I told him I'd become a Vegetarian. Something about not making those decisions lightly because the body needs certain vitamins, minerals and stuff…"

Chouji carefully rolled closed the bag that only contained Asuma-sensei's sandwiches. "He's right," he said. "And you have to eat balanced meals."

"Whatever." Ino probably wasn't aware that she was mirroring Shikamaru with the roll of her eyes and the tone of her voice, but he was.

When Asuma-sensei arrived they trained for hours and ended up flat on the cool earth afterwards, sweaty and exhausted and oddly exhilarated. Chouji opened a bag of chips.

"Go away, Shikamaru, you're too warm," Ino complained and shifted away from him. Shikamaru sighed and did not move.

"Don't start again," Chouji said peacefully. "It's nicely quiet just now."

Really, it was. The training ground was bathed in soft light, filtered through the green canopy of the trees, and the air was warm.

"I don't know why you always have to fight." Chouji voice was thoughtful. "You're, like, best friends."

"What? Us? Never!" Ino protested.

Shikamaru closed his eyes. "Troublesome."

Without Chouji, he thought, he and Ino would probably have killed each other a long, long time ago. Chouji balanced them, mellowed the sharp opposites they presented. Chouji was the one reason why they still were _there_ , as a team.

Or perhaps he was their excuse.

After some time, when their breathing had evened out, the sweat had dried and the bag of chips was empty, Chouji sat up with a groan.

"Can I leave the two of you or will you start ripping off each other's head the second I'm out of earshot? I need to get back home."

"Whatever," Shikamaru said, dispassionately, watching a particularly beautiful cloud in the sky. "Wednesday, as usual?"

"Jup," Chouji said and smiled down at his friends. "See you. Bye, Ino."

Ino murmured an answer, seemingly half-asleep. Chouji left and the silence of the forest, punctuated by the soft rustling of the leaves and harmonious bird twittering, enveloped them again. Ino's rhythmic breathing next to Shikamaru was hypnotizing.

"Ino," he murmured.

"Hm?"

"Will you try out the chuunin exams this year?"

"Of course," she said, suddenly awake again. "Asuma-sensei said Chouji and I could make it. Sakura, Hinata and Lee's team will participate, too."

"Hnn." Shikamaru shrugged, a gesture somewhat futile since Ino couldn't see him. "You think you're ready?"

Ino's answer was wistful. "I don't know. But I want to try."

There seemed to be more behind her words than she let on and Shikamaru didn't dig deeper.

"It'll work out," he said instead and heard her chuckle.

"Yeah, that's what Sakura says, too. But she's been training with Tsunade-sama. She's sure to make chuunin this time."

"She's got a good chance. About eighty-one percent, I'd say. Most genin make it to chuunin on second try."

Ino laughed, half-surprised, half-amused. "I'm not going to ask for my odds but I'm sure you calculated them already."

He didn't answer, watching the cloud shift from form to form slowly. The sun had sunk. Shadows were growing around them, cooling the ground. It wasn't summer yet.

Ino shivered.

"I'm sure Hinata will be nominated, though. You should see her new techniques. They're amazing. I know everyone says Neji is a genius because he copied the Hyuuga style perfectly, but I think Hinata's even more so because she was able to develop her own style."

Shikamaru gave a non-committal sound and lifted himself up onto his elbows. Ino's eyes were closed as she talked, her face and body relaxed. She looked much calmer that way than when she was all tense and trying to prove herself-

"Let's go back," he said abruptly and watched her eyes snap open. When she saw he was watching her, she smirked.

"Getting cold?"

He knew she knew he couldn't get cold in the shadows alone but he went along with her, anyway. "No, but you are."

Ino smiled. "Yeah, it's cooling down pretty quickly. And I have to get back home. I have a shift in the shop."

Maybe, Shikamaru thought, he'd keep her company for some time. He liked the atmosphere of the Yamanaka flower shop.

And he liked the flowers, because they reminded him of someone-

* * *

Flowers were strange things.

They were so short-lived. Maybe it was because they died so soon that one could appreciate their beauty. Maybe they were precious because they reminded people how short life was, and how much beauty could be found in it.

It was a completely unreasonable, illogical excuse for buying cut flowers, but somehow he could grasp it.

* * *

When Shikamaru came home that night, the light in the living-room was on. Warm and steady, it almost seemed to call out to him. His father sat in the island of light, the reading glasses he only wore when he was at home perched on the outermost edge of his nose, a few more scrolls messily strewn over the table before him. Probably work, Shikamaru thought, because Nara Shikaku wasn't the person to leave business unfinished, not even when he had to be home at seven for dinner. From the kitchen, the soft clinking of pots and pans told him his mother had anticipated his arrival and had started heating up his dinner. For a second, Shikamaru stopped in the door and looked at the domestic scene in front of him: he'd inherited his father's intellect and strategic mind and his mother's sense for tidiness and order. As it was, he thought, it was a good combination.

He thought of leaving his chuunin vest in the corridor. Being tidy didn't mean he was unable to clean up later on...

"Put your things where they belong!" His mother's voice rang out and smirking, Shikamaru turned around, traipsed into his own room, deposited his vest on the desk chair and returned to the living-room.

"Hey."

Shikaku didn't look up from his papers. "Hnn."

Shikamaru sat down, grabbed a scroll and unrolled it.

"Damn Council," his father muttered. "Trying to change the Academy syllabus again. They should try learning all that stuff they would like to see taught in two years instead of three. Tell me what you think."

"I think three years of Academy shouldn't be shortened. We're not at war."

At that, his father placed down a scroll. "No," he said, but his voice was careful and devoid of any emotions. "We're not at war."

Shikamaru frowned.

"But?"

"No buts." Shikaku was staring into empty air, his forehead creased. "It's just that I'm worried..."

Shikamaru waited. Indeed, his father continued after some time. "There's this question as to where Uchiha Sasuke disappeared to, and the military strength of newly-founded village of Orochimaru's. And there are some other countries with which the diplomatic relations have been steadily declining. Jiraiya-Sama brought some intel the last time he visited, but we're not yet sure about what to do with it. Inoichi, Chouza and I will have to look into this more closely. And then there's the matter of Akatsuki."

"Sounds complicated."

Actually, Shikamaru thought, it didn't sound complicated: it sounded incomplete. Lose ends here and there, none of them connected, all of them leading into something in the future he didn't really want to look at. And, at the same time, leading back into the past: _If I had only stopped him then and there-_

Shikaku came back to reality with an almost audible snap. "Well, we'll tackle the problems one at a time," he said, cheerfully. "No need for you to worry. You're still young - let the experienced generation work on a solution, will you?"

Shikamaru knew when optimism was faked, and he knew his father. Nara Shikaku was being serious right now. And, for the son who had followed his father around since he could remember, who knew that his father never bit off a piece larger than he could chew, this was comforting. There was a way trust in your parents soothed your mind, Shikamaru thought, and settled back.

"About the Academy syllabus..."

Nara Yoshino came from the kitchen carrying a bowl of soup, a plate with bread and fruits and a glass of juice and placed it on the table. She gave her son a motherly pat on his head – "You're late" – and her husband a glare.

"You're not supposed to be working this late. You're home, not in the Hokage's office! What kind of role model do you want to be for your son?"

Shikaku looked at the one he was supposed to be a role model for, his eyes twinkling. "When you finished your dinner, fancy a match of Shogi?"

Shikamaru hummed his consent, already buried in a bowl of hot soup with soft bread and another one of the Council's propositions, and missed the look his parents exchanged over his head.

Shikaku was smiling.


	2. Projections

_**ii. Projections**_

 _We gambled and failed_.

He heard his father say those words one night, when Shikaku, Inoichi and Chouza had been brooding over plans, treatises and intelligence reports once again for hours and hours on end. He sounded… _defeated_. It was something Shikamaru had never heard before. When Konoha finally went to war, knowing that his father, his friends, colleagues and superiors had done everything – _everything! –_ in their power to try to stop it from happening in the first place was no consolation.

Tsunade-Sama's face when she briefed the entirety of her shinobi was frightening. Shikamaru didn't think he'd ever seen her so calm before, and he finally understood why she was known not only as Slug Princess but also as Iron Princess. Dimly, he remembered one of his father's stories. Shikaku had loved telling them when friends and family had gathered and from his corner Shikamaru would listen, invisible to the adults, as past times were revived by his father's words. He had never given a thought about the fact that Tsunade-Sama was only a few years older than his father but suddenly he realized Shikaku had known The Fifth Fire Shadow when she was a teenager. _She never was the same again,_ his father had sighed quietly one night, after everyone else had left. Shikamaru had always thought Shikaku had referred to the death of her fiancée as the one event that had changed her but when he did the math now whatever had happened to change her cheerful character to the woman he knew today would have occurred earlier. So what had happened in the Fifth's life that had made her harden her heart to an extent that only a truly special man had been able to melt it again, and, after his death, no one ever again? Shikamaru would never know.

After the meeting, in the midst of the frozen silence that surrounded them while, at the same time, everybody was already mentally preparing for what had to come next, he glimpsed a shadow of red and black in the foyer of the Hokage's Tower. Kurenai-San was wearing her uniform – a dark-red outfit with the obligatory jounin vest – and her hair was fixed into a tight ponytail. She looked strange and familiar at the same time. Feeling his eyes on her, she smiled a brief smile and turned away again to talk to Kakashi, and Shikamaru realized she was going to fight, as well. The sensation of sickness that came over him was almost physical.

When Shikamaru – wandering seemingly aimlessly around the town, unable to sleep on the last night before deployment – came into sight of the old, sturdy bridge, Ino and Chouji were already there. Chouji merely nodded and Ino shifted a bit towards him and just like that there was a space next to them that had his shape. He fell into it with the ease of familiarity and a terrible sense of loss. Ino produced a bag of chips. They stayed there, wordlessly, until Chouji couldn't hide his yawns and Shikamaru caught his mind wandering off in all five different dimensions. They accompanied Ino home and went home themselves.

And then they went to war.

 _(What they see: children torn away from their parents children dying on the blood-soaked plains children killing children dying for children dying with children. Adults fighting, adults despairing, adults giving up. People dishearted, defeated, dying. People breaking. Ashes, ashes, we all fall-)_

They returned a few months later to a village that hadn't been touched by the fights – at least, not physically – but darkness clung to them like a shroud. It still felt like they were trapped on the battle field. The feeling would remain for a long, long time.

* * *

The Nara Clan had a history that went beyond the days of the Era of Warring States, back to a date which differed, depending on which calendar one resorted to. Eight men had held the position as Head of the Nara before Shikamaru, most of them for an average period of service of thirty-two years. Their names and the dates of their leadership had been engraved into Shikamaru's mind before he even had been old enough to attend the Academy. And each of the Heads of the Nara Clan had served well and truthfully until their deaths, and now it was Shikamaru's turn.

Unexpectedly.

Or perhaps not. Wars always demanded sacrifices. First Asuma-Sensei, then Neji, then the previous generation of InoShikaChou. Naruto won for them, in the end, or at least that was what everyone said.

"Bullshit," Naruto snorted, and even for Shikamaru it was impossible to say whether the water trails on his cheeks came from the rain or from tears. Whether Naruto was crying at all. It wouldn't have surprised him if the blonde's eyes had been completely dry: Shikamaru wasn't crying, either, after all. "Stupid old geezers. I didn't do anything. The people who fought together out there won this war, all those shinobi from every country, the civilians helping, everyone. And those who died for us. We should be honoring their sacrifices instead of attending stupid ceremonies for those who survived."

He sounded angry. Naruto had sounded angry for quite some time now, Shikamaru knew, and he didn't know whether it was because of the final outcome of his friend's fight with Sasuke (who had disappeared again), because of the people they had lost or because the Council was styling him as their great hero. He would get over it, Shikamaru was pretty sure, especially because Naruto never was able to remain angry with anyone for a long time. His heart was far too big to hold a grudge. But right now, the blonde's anger was soothing.

At least, _someone_ felt _something._

Shikamaru threw himself into work, because that was so much better than being idle and having time to think. Though, truth be told, he managed to think too much, either way. There was enough to do to make him fall into bed at the late hours of the night. Exhaustion drove away nightmares, but the insomnia was not as easy to come by. He couldn't remember ever having had trouble falling asleep before but now it seemed impossible. The silence from his mother's room made it even worse. And besides, there were peace treaties to draft and to negotiate. Konoha's war-oriented economy had to be directed towards peace-time handling once again, this included new trade negotiations and indefinitely boring diplomatic conventions with foreign and national Lords and representatives. There were endless lists and numerous files to complete. Public schools and Konoha Academy had to be opened again. Anbu sent a list of possible new recruits and T&I of necessary, new acquisitions, and Shikamaru studiously ignored the familiar handwriting on the latter sheets. Konoha would have only three new genin teams that year but at least there would be some. Chouji volunteered to tutor one team, Shino and Lee the other two. There wasn't really a way to refuse Lee, seeing as his efforts had once again driven him right to the edge of his physical endurance and he probably would never be more than a specialized chuunin. But the enthusiasm he showed was gratifying. Hinata was busy with her clan. Kiba and Naruto joined Anbu, and Tenten volunteered to be sent to another shinobi village to act as diplomat. And Shikamaru met Kurenai-San and her daughter on the streets one day but he didn't know what to say. When they parted again Kurenai-San smiled, the terrible scars oddly beautiful in her face. Her daughter babbled happily in her arms, reaching out to try and catch a few strands of her mother's hair that danced in the wind. "Take care, Shikamaru."

He didn't sleep that night, and many, many others.

* * *

"I'm calling in a meeting of the Clans next month," Tsunade-Sama said absentmindedly after a long day of negotiations with Kumo. "Assemble a list of all the current Clan Heads and draft an invitation, talk to Shizune about when my schedule permits it. You'll have a list of the topics by midday tomorrow."

There had been nothing strange in her request, nothing that had caught his attention. His mind started the calculations automatically: Aburame, Akimichi, Hyuuga, Inuzuka, Kedouin, Kurama, Sarutobi, Senju, Yamanaka – seven. But there were eight clans in Hidden Leaf, nine if one counted the just-returned, only Uchiha. Eight clans, so one was missing-

 _Nara._

Tsunade-Sama shot him a sharp look and Shikamaru schooled his expression back into a resemblance of calm. What had she seen on his face? Surprise at the realization that he would be the one to represent his clan in these meetings? Worry, because he would have to represent one of the oldest clans of the village? Or had she seen what he really felt: the utterly painful reminder that his father was dead and would never come back? But the Fifth Fire Shadow didn't say anything and Shikamaru left with his usual stiff nod. Back in the tiny room that was his fathers – no, that was _his_ office – he closed the door and stared at the desk blindly. It was utterly tidy: the papers were sorted by relevance and topic and neatly stacked; three scrolls were lined up by their sizes. A pen was next to them, joined by three more of its kind in the holder on the left-hand side. A quill in its stand and an ink well. A box of sand. Nothing out of place , not even the plain wooden frame from which Shikaku Nara was grinning his usual, close-lipped smile, his arm wrapped around his son in something suspiciously resembling a headlock while his wife was coming up behind him, hands on her hips. Shikaku very much looked like he wasn't aware that the woman he had married was descending on him like the Wrath of Heavens and like he was very much enjoying teasing his son. Shikamaru had a decidedly un-bored expression, perhaps because his father had been _strong._ The picture had been the only personal thing in the office Nara Shikaku had occupied for more than twenty years and which had, at his death, passed over to his only son and heir.

With one swipe of his arm Shikamaru shoved the entire collection of papers, pens, sanding box and picture frame from the scratched and cuffed hardwood. It clattered to the ground in bits and pieces, leaving him more work and even darker despair.

* * *

According to the Kuebler-Ross model, grief had five stages. It was obvious. It was everywhere.

Denial: "Bullshit," Kabuto said, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Orochimaru-sensei did what was the best for Konoha." (Orochimaru agreed to let his powers be sealed, and to be confined to a house in the outskirts of town. He looked amused even when he was led from the council room but he was neither shackled nor dead so he had at least that going for him.)

Anger: "No." Naruto's warm, blue eyes were steel, and cold as ice. "I absolutely refuse. You will have to kill me first." (The Council agreed on the law to never insert the kyuubi into unwilling or too-young vessels.)

Bargaining: The diplomat was too well-trained to show his anger, but everyone present felt it. "I will notify the Daimyo about your proposed changes as fast as possible. But perhaps we could discuss some more about…" (Shikamaru knew he had achieved what he had wanted to achieve, but he felt nothing, regardless of his victory.)

Depression: "I can't protect anyone. They are dead, and it's my fault." (Tsunade-Hime, when drunk, mostly became vicious and mean, but not on the anniversary of Jiraiya-Sama's death. Shikamaru thought he and Shizune were the only ones who had drawn that connection but since Naruto turned up on that day and still was there when Shikamaru left he wasn't so sure about that.)

And somehow, acceptance did not make it easier to bear, not at all. Hidden Leaf had fallen and had picked itself up, people had died and Shikamaru had fought, and accepting the past meant accepting what had happened. Shikamaru could accept that they had done their best. He could accept that they had to sacrifice things in order to protect others, and that sometimes, people never returned. But he refused to accept that his father was one of those people. He screamed and raged inwardly, through sleepless nights and even worse nightmares, through days and weeks and even months. It didn't matter, did it, as long as he functioned. The names repeated endlessly: _Asuma, Neji, Shikaku, Inoichi, Chouza. Asuma..._

 _Father._

And yet he couldn't stop the flow of time. The memories seemed to run through his hands like water, intangible, irretrievable. _They are dead. They won't ever come back._ Shikamaru couldn't deny what his mind already had accepted as true: it was against his nature.

* * *

"Your mother said you'd be out here somewhere," Ino said as she stepped up to the fence he was sitting on. The summer rain was still falling, warm and steady, turning the world around him into shades of green and grey. Of course, Shikamaru thought detachedly, his mother would send her to get him. Chouji was out of town and nobody else knew his favorite places on the Nara grounds like Ino did. If anyone could have found him, it would have been her. The knowledge added to the pressure in his chest, like soft wind adding oxygen to a kindling flame. He had no name for the feelings, but he knew he didn't want to see Ino now. It wasn't a new sensation.

"Go away."

Ino didn't answer. Instead, she slipped unto the fence, too, perched on the highest bar in a mirror of Shikamaru's own pose. He couldn't help noticing the way she moved – graceful, silent, like the shinobi both of them were – and hated himself for it. The sky continued to pour. It was as if it was crying all the tears Shikamaru couldn't shed. It was so _pathetic._ So many good people had died and he couldn't even find it in himself to mourn them. Even the thought of Neji's loss, while a constant reminder, wasn't as painful as the memory of his father.

"I can't do it," he said without preamble, lashing out at her and wishing for her to contradict him. "I can't take my father's place in the Clan meeting."

He sampled the after-effect of the words that hung in the air like dying birds. They tasted like an excuse. The burning sensation inside him flickered and choked him.

Ino didn't answer.

"I miss him." Shikamaru hadn't wanted to say it. But with Ino sitting there, so silent and un-Ino-like, so familiar and patient and _he has known her for his whole life._ They hadn't seen each other a lot since the war had ended and the few times they had he'd been unable to look at her. Ino seemed distant, these days, composed and energetic and so different from the girl he'd known. And so similar, at the same time, so heart-wrenchingly familiar he couldn't meet her eyes. Maybe that was why the words spilled from him like poison, choking him even as he spat them out. "I expect him to wander around the corner every moment. To sit at the table, or on the porch with the Shogi board. I see his boots and think he should clean them because they're all muddy from the last time it rained. His books are still strewn all over the place, why could he never keep his things in order, it's not that hard-"

The sense of loss, as usual, was so fundamental there was no way to describe it. It filled him up, choked him and left no air for him to breathe.

"He left me all that stuff. The family tree in that ancient book I never was allowed to touch without his supervision. His seat on the Council. His Shogi board. When I was a kid, I really wanted it. Now I would give anything – _anything_ – if he just came back."

Was it still only rain that ran down his cheeks?

"I miss him so much."

At the edge of his vision Ino moved. Suddenly she was standing in front of him, her eyes dark and blue. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she carefully pulled him into an embrace. This was new, as well – they'd never hugged, not even when they lost Asuma-Sensei, not in all those years he'd known her. For a second, he froze. But Ino was warm and Shikamaru gave up and dropped his head onto her shoulder. She didn't come closer. She just stood there and held him, loosely, her thin arms wrapped around him. And Shikamaru realized Ino's shoulders were shaking. She was weeping, too, but no sound left her lips. Only then he realized that Inoishi was dead, too, and that Ino had lost her only remaining parent. Almost unconsciously, his right arm came up and pressed her closer, and then the other, and Ino's arms around him tightened until it was almost painful. She was a kunoichi, of course he knew this, but the strength in her arms still surprised him. As if the Ino that held him right there wasn't the same person he had trained with for almost his entire life.

The rain continued to fall.

* * *

The Cenotaph had been erected at the end of the Third Shinobi World War, thirty-one years ago, by the Sandaime Hokage. A young stone mason by the name of Kanata Hachikumo had worked on it for two hundred ninety-eight hours. Four hundred sixty three names had been engraved into the grey column, all of them names of shinobi who had fallen in the war. There still was some space left, but no new ones had been added to the list yet. There were still three hundred fifty two names that awaited the day that they would be chiseled into the stone: the final sign that death really was the end of everything.

Kakashi seemed to like the monument: Shikamaru hated it.

"I wish I could go back and do everything again, without any hesitations or mistakes."

It would change so much. He could do everything better. Talk to Sasuke, maybe become friends with him before he even thought of defecting. Or make sure to get him back from Orochimaru this time. Train harder, become stronger so Asuma-sensei wouldn't die. Be faster, more determined, and if he still wasn't able to stop the war perhaps he could at least save-

"Are you stupid?"

In the shadows of the trees at noon Ino's face was almost hidden, but her voice was clear. Shikamaru suddenly realized he didn't hear the disdain he would have expected from her in it, or at least irritation. To him, it had been what had made Ino Ino: the fact that her voice could wake the dead with its volume, how her words cut like knives and the underlying sentiments were clear and devastating in every word. _Idiot._ _Bore._ _Fatty._ When had it changed? It must have happened quite some time ago. The War had changed them – _no_. It had started earlier.

Shikamaru watched her from the corners of his eyes. Ino seemed calmer nowadays, more silent. Without reproach.

 _Kind._

"No one wants to live like that. It might seem easy, but it's not. Living without any mistakes? Taking a shortcut? It wouldn't be a life, Shikamaru."

A bird sang, somewhere in the canopy of leaves above the clearing. Ino's hair shone in a stray sun ray, silver and white. Now that he thought of it he realized that he was actually looking down on her when they stood next to each other. How come he'd never noticed this before? Ino wasn't tall. She was just below average, tall enough to not be called tiny but not really _tall_ , either. Her hair fell down to her shoulders in a silver curtain. Off-duty, she wore a knee-length top and leggings. A silver bracelet wrapped around the wrist of her left hand.

"Come on." She took his hand. "You have a Council meeting to attend."

Following behind her wordlessly, he outlined the contours of her figure with his eyes. Her arms, her torso, her hips and her legs. Her top wasn't anything remotely like the shirts she had worn when they'd been younger; in comparison, it was conservative. Still, it clung to her in all the right places, revealing curves one never saw under the bulky vest they wore on duty. The realization made him stop in his tracks abruptly: Ino had the figure of a woman.

"What's the matter?" She asked, stopped ungently by his sudden pause, and turned. The wind had plastered strands of her hair to her lips and she needed three tries until she had brushed them away again. "While I wouldn't mind just standing here, you have other places you have to be. And don't tell me you cannot go, because we both know you can."

 _I know you can do it._

Her faith in him really was absolute and Shikamaru had no idea what to say. Ino tugged at his hand. It made him glance down at it and again he started in surprise: it wasn't her hand that held his, anymore, but his hand that folded around her smaller one firmly and didn't seem willing to let go. His first reaction was surprise – and then a slow, burning sensation deep within him made him let go of her slowly and deliberately. It was confusing, and it was not. Nothing hot or feverish but rather a slow burn that seemed to start somewhere in his stomach and continued to spread. Epiphanies, he had learned long ago, didn't come like flashes of lightning but developed slowly and steadily until you just _knew_. So this was what it felt like.

Something ran across Ino's face – too fast for him to catch – but she didn't say anything.

She accompanied him to the main house and then turned to leave as he trudged upwards the staircase. On the top of the flight of stairs, Shikamaru paused and looked back: the last thing he saw was a flash of silver-and-gold hair as she disappeared from his sight.


	3. Hearts

_**iii. Hearts**_

Hidden Leaf had an amount of 15,717 households in total. The average number of persons in one household was 1.6. 63 % of the households actually belonged to singles or people living by themselves, reflecting the trend of young shinobi moving out early and living alone or in community dormitories. 12.2 % of all Leaf households had children younger than seventeen, the age a minor became an adult officially. The typical Leaf family consisted of three people: father, mother and 1.3 children. And 34.2 % of the people rearing children were single parents. It made Shikamaru realize, every time he looked at the statistics, how lucky he had been: he had grown up with both his parents for seventeen years.

* * *

It's not like he memorizes every single one of the numbers he sees and hears every day.

* * *

Once upon a time Shikamaru had listened to his parents explain his mental capabilities to another friend. They hadn't understood, in the same way Shikamaru was pretty certain his parents never had been able to grasp the entire consequences of the fact that their son was a genius. It was like explaining colors: there was no way to describe them to a color-blind person, no matter how hard one tried. There were people who were able to memorize long trails of things: numbers, words, places, historical facts. There were people who could look at a map or an image and reconstruct it in perfect detail. There were people who could read a text and later recalled every fact and name, people who could construct incredible, helpful devices, people who could remember every face they'd ever seen or who could create society-altering, scientific break-throughs. There were many varieties of genius, apparently, and Shikamaru possessed most of them. Perfect recollection could be a burden.

As was perfection.

And because Shikamaru was so incredibly, terribly perfect when it came to so many things, his mind refused to cope with others. Change, for example, wasn't a problem. The problem was the people: the sudden absences, the holes left by departures and deaths, the lose threads that wound around him and bound him and choked him until he had no strength left to fight. The still-born things dying unsaid that never would be heard in this world. _I love you, Father. I miss you. I can't do this without you._ Regrets and mistakes that could never be apologized for. People that did not change even though the world had stopped, tilted on its axis and started rotating into the wrong direction; people that continued to work and to smile and to live _just like before._ But also: people who _did_ change while they never should have been allowed to do so – people he had known for all his life. People who mattered to him. He'd never realized how much until he'd almost lost them: blood-clotted gold-and-silver hair, a stained family crest and two unconscious forms, hands clinging to another and _his heart broke_ but they'd been _alive_. He couldn't admit it, though, couldn't think of what he'd almost lost when he'd actually lost something heart-shatteringly important. And then Ino, a blurred figure in the pouring rain, wet hair plastered to her face. It was like Shikamaru had _finally_ looked up and realized–

But he shouldn't, he _couldn't,_ not when their world had just ended and there was a hole of the size of four men and a world in each of their hearts.

All the things that lingered on the tip of his tongue, poisonously, and couldn't be voiced.

* * *

"Watch it," he burst out when Ino accidentally upset the folders stacked on his desk. The papers tumbled to the ground in a mess.

Apologizing, she picked up the brown files, aided by Chouji. Shikamaru didn't wait until she had settled them back onto the table but pulled them from her hands impatiently and started going through them with his lips pressed into a thin line. He was well aware of his two friends' glances: Chouji was chewing silently, his eyes glued to Shikamaru, while Ino had her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Shikamaru slammed half of the folders down onto the table with more force than necessary and continued to sort.

"What's wrong with you?" Ino asked, the first one to break the silence.

"Nothing." Shikamaru fought the uncharacteristic fit of temper and found himself losing. "I didn't know the two of you were coming over."

"We said we would pick you up and go for a spar yesterday," Chouji said, and folded the bag of chips neatly into squares. The rustling was ear-shatteringly loud in the silence of his room.

"I've got a lot of work to do."

"Bullshit," Ino said and looked like she was debating whether to get angry or to worry even more. "These files were done. You were finished for today."

"And then you came and ruined all," Shikamaru shot back, gripping the edge of the table.

Ino's incredulous denial would have recalled the dead a few years – an eternity – ago. Now, she just sounded weary. The difference between past and present made his heart clench painfully and the ever-present feeling of shame was a bucket of ice down his spine. "It's not that bad. It's almost done again, and we'll help you if you have more to do. What's wrong, Shikamaru?"

"Nothing, dammit! Why do you keep asking me that? It's annoying!"

Ino's eyes shrank to slits. "I am asking because you're behaving strange, and we are worried about you."

"I don't need your concern."

"We're friends, we're allowed to worry about you-"

"Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" Shikamaru's voice was pure acid.

Ino's hands fisted at her side as she looked at him and the fact that the glimpse of the old Ino he knew shone through her armor was oddly satisfying. "Now that you say it, I actually do. Tell me when you've calmed down enough to talk normally."

She didn't slam the door, and she didn't storm from the room. She walked away, instead, slowly and calm, and closed the door quietly. Her steps on the stairs were swallowed by the walls and Shikamaru and Chouji were left alone; Chouji's eyes hooded and unreadable, Shikamaru breathing hard.

"What the hell is her problem?"

Chouji didn't answer.

Truth to be told: he didn't know what _his_ problem was, either. Granted, his team mates could be exhausting on times. But they were friends, always had been, and usually Ino fussed, Shikamaru dead-panned and Chouji smiled. For years and years, their meetings after an argument had been what he had come to believe reconciliation felt like: they never apologized to each other but they just fit, like puzzle pieces. An equilateral triangle: three parts of a whole. No fight had ever managed to break them apart. It had, oddly, felt like what he'd always thought siblings would feel towards each other: quiet exasperation, loud annoyance, stubborn belief – and unmistakable, unbreakable love. This time was different. This time, the things that remained unsaid were a distraught effort to recall what they once had had, a desperate, hopeless attempt to hold back the change that was threatening to overwhelm them and which was driven forward by what had changed them in the first place but also by what Shikamaru felt and refused to comprehend. It was the sight of Ino that upset something in him; something slow-burning and uncomfortable. Whether it was the way she held her head or the way she smiled while her smile had changed, he didn't know. This was strange, dangerous, and Shikamaru understood it but couldn't accept it. And that was new. He'd always accepted the inevitable before – before the inevitable had become his father's face and his voice and the touch of his hand and the fact that he would never, ever have those things again. He hated the feelings Ino woke in him, he hated himself for feeling them, and he hated the fact that they would end the last remnants of his past that had survived the war. _This is the end._ He was sure Ino and Chouji felt it, too.

Shikamaru also didn't need to memorize things to know they were tucked away safely in his mind. They just were _there_.

Ino's haunted eyes were added to the gallery of his failures.

* * *

Human beings were the most troublesome species on earth. Human beings, in fact, were the reason why the world was so messed-up, so desperately, terribly cruel. People just couldn't live peacefully side by side. They never would appreciate what they had, always would want more. Money, influence and power. They never would be happy with their achievements. People were more savage than animals: they killed each other without reason, without hesitation and without regard for the losses. Even animals knew mercy - humans didn't care. There had been wars and conflicts since the beginning of time. Human beings had burdened the world, had torn it and hammered it and burned it into a form of their liking and then had proceeded to live in hypocrisy, each group believing he was most comfortable and the most worthy. And all those people that preached peace instead of war, or pacifism instead of lethargy – Shikamaru felt sick whenever he listened to them. Peaceful people were slaughtered ( _Uzushiogakure_ ), pacifists murdered ( _Amegakure_ ) and people fighting for justice died ( _Konohagakure_ ). And it would never, ever end.

Maybe his life had made him develop a fatalistic mind, but Shikamaru didn't care much for it either way.

* * *

Ino was pulling her hair up in a tight braid.

Sometime after the war she had cut it. It fell onto her shoulders in a silvery curtain these days, as intangible as sunshine on a window sill, and was so short some strands escaped from the braid almost immediately. Impatiently, she pushed them behind her ears and fixed them with a pair of clips. Then, her hands dropped, and she stood motionless. Shikamaru, who had been watching her, tore his eyes away in a by-now well-practiced motion and moved forward until they stood three meters apart. Above them, in the green canopy of the forest, a black-bird chirruped, a call of warning to her relatives. The forest smelled like wet leaves and earth after rain but the ground was almost dry. The monsoon season was coming to its end.

 _Three years._

"Ready," Chouji said and eyed both of them carefully. Shikamaru gave him a curt nod. Ino didn't even look at him, he noticed. The Akimichi withdrew to a large tree that stood at the edge of the clearing.

"Go."

Instinctively, both Ino and Shikamaru dropped into the loose fighting stance that had been engraved into their muscle memory years ago. Equally simultaneously, they started circling each other. Shikamaru fixed his gaze on a point somewhere between her throat and her stomach, blending out details but keeping her entire body in his field of vision, and waited for her to attack.

Sparring with someone you knew so well was both useless and useful.

Ino opened with a straightforward punch to his abdomen, followed by a feint towards his face and, as he brought up his arms to block her, a short, quick sideway kick to his ribs. He dodged the first attack, blocked the second and twisted out of her range for the third, countering with a straight kick in a quick combination of punches and feints. He didn't fool her but one punch-kick combination shattered her defense. Ino jumped backwards, quick as lightning, used a tree to halt her momentum and activated chakra to catapult herself forward again. Flipping over his head she landed in a crouch behind him, placing both her hands squarely onto the ground and giving away her intention but not her advantage of speed. Shikamaru managed to leap only milliseconds before her legs lashed out in a less-than-gentle kick that was supposed to sweep out his feet from under his body. He came down in a summersault and caught her in the second between regaining her balance and getting up, two quick steps brought him close enough to be able to grab her shoulders and hook his knee behind hers. Ino went down without a sound but grabbed his collar in the process, her short fingernails raking his skin accidentally. His own momentum – and hers – drew him forward and he fell as well, an exemplary demonstration of a well-executed shoulder throw. Catapulting to his feet and whirling around, he found himself face to face with Ino. Her fist-

"No score." Chouji's voice was tight from where he was circling their fighting ring and they stopped immediately. "Take up positions. Go."

This time, Shikamaru started like an arrow shot from a crossbow. He ducked under Ino's defense and targeted her face; she blocked both his punches. When she jerked back her head he attempted to swipe her off her feet again, this time trying to distract her by jabbing his fist at her ribs. Ino moved backwards quick as lightning, centered herself and denied him the moment of imbalance he would need to tackle her to the ground again, took aim and spun around in a roundhouse kick that caught Shikamaru straight in the side with bruising force.

"Score Red." Chouji. Unhappy. "Take up positions. Go."

Traditional sparring rules meant no ninjutsu, no genjutsu and no bloodline talents, as well as strict rules regarding target zones, full contact and scorings. It wasn't a fighting style many genin learned, nowadays. Maybe Asuma had taught them to fight like this in order to teach them a lesson (Shikamaru honestly had no idea which one it was supposed to be) or because he thought they would actually profit from it. Either way, they used it.

Ino opened the round with a kick-punch-kick combination that drove him backwards relentlessly. Shikamaru tried to catch her leg but she was too fast. Using his heavier weight to his advantage he caught her last blow without even trying to dodge. For a second Ino seemed flustered – usually, he moved out of the way, he'd made it abundantly clear that he didn't like to make a stand and preferred to use his mind instead – and swiped at her dominant leg. Ino slammed to the ground painfully, twisted into a roll and came up to face him. A vicious counter-kick to the stomach sent her flying backwards, knocking all her breath from her lungs.

"Score White."

Ino clawed herself upright again, refusing to touch her rib cage which, as Shikamaru knew, had to be badly bruised. Coughing once, she took up her position in fighting distance from Shikamaru. His gaze caught hers, fiery and incensed. Shikamaru's heart slammed against his rib cage painfully. This was the Ino he knew- Ruthlessly, he pushed away the thought and focused. At least one thing he was good in.

Chouji had passed the border between unhappy and devil-may-care. His voice held no inflection. "Go."

Ino lunged.

They stopped fifteen minutes later. Both of them were breathing hard, Shikamaru wincing at a punch that had caught his chin bone, Ino holding a hand to her side. Chouji threw both of them a bottle of water each. "Final scoring: Red, fifteen points, white, seventeen points. You happy now?"

Ino shot him an icy glare which Chouji returned, equally angrily. Shikamaru finished the cool water in his bottle and looked at Ino. When their eyes met, she refused to meet his eyes but anger radiated from every tense line within her body.

Chouji looked from Shikamaru to Ino and back and visibly calmed himself. "I have to leave," he said. "Do me a favor, both of you?" At his icy tone, Ino lowered her head guiltily. Shikamaru had a feeling he knew what was to come. "Talk this out. I'm not watching my two best friends trying to kill each other in a no-weapons sparring match again. If you don't get a grip…"

He didn't finish the sentence but all of them heard the end. Silence fell onto the clearing, icy and foreboding. They knew what would happen if they couldn't settle this. All of them knew, but Shikamaru knew best.

Chouji was the first to leave.

Shikamaru looked at Ino: silvery, blonde hair, her flushed face, her small figure. Her arms that had caught him more than once, albeit only the only time they had actually touched had been months ago. Her hips, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her neck.

She was-

His gaze found her face, finally, like a starving man finds water. His eyes caught hers: large and deep, blue like glacier lakes in the mountains of Snow–

Realization, as always, was simply _there_ , overwhelming in its completeness.

The emotions in her eyes shifted to pure terror. As fast as it had come it disappeared again, replaced by the control she had trained onto herself.

"I have a meeting at nine," she said calmly. "I will be leaving first."

She did so without glancing back.

* * *

There were statistics. More than a few.

Two thirds of all interviewed persons had confessed they believed that people fell in love for a lifetime. One partner, one life together, and they lived happily ever after. 31 % of people in a relationship considered themselves very happy, 52 % at least as happy. On the other hand, 46 % of 16-to-69-year-old-singles did not believe in Eternal Love.

More than 90% of the interviewees wished for faithful relationships. Still, 50 % confessed to have cheated on their partner at least once.

34 % - - -

Of course, you couldn't trust any statistics you hadn't forged yourself.

* * *

"Are you in love with me?"

They hadn't spoken since she had left the training grounds without another word a week ago. It could have been a grand exit, would have been, had it come a few years earlier. Ino had disappeared almost soundlessly instead, her head high but her shoulders slumped, and Shikamaru was left to stare after her and wonder why his mind was so calm.

" _What?_ "

Dust danced in the few sun-rays that made it into the duskiness of the stairwell they were standing in. Heartbeats ticked by.

He repeated his question. "Are you in love with me?"

"Idiot," Ino said, deliberately calm. "You stupid, stubborn, fucking idiot."

"What a language."

"What is this about, now?" She lifted her hands and dropped them again, her shoulders sinking in a gesture of defeat so un-Ino-like something inside him twisted violently. "You were the one behaving like an anti-personnel mine rigged to blow any second. Chouji and I thought you needed some more time since you kept ignoring us or shouting at us, alternately, so we gave it to you, but all you did was get even angrier. And now suddenly you're back, pretending like nothing ever happened, and the first thing for you is to go and ask me _this_? Really, Shikamaru? Because I don't believe for a second that you haven't realized this years ago. You're the genius, after all, you can't even ignore the tiniest, most insignificant thing. Are you trying to make me even more miserable in order to feel better yourself? Because that's the only reason I can imagine that you'd ask me this out of the blue. Do you even know what answer you want to hear when you ask something like that?"

She laughed, or tried to, because she choked on a sob and closed her eyes tightly, fighting for control.

"I have no idea, really, why it has to be this way. It could have been so much simpler, I could have picked Sai, or even Kiba, at least-"

Which was when he kissed her. It shut her up effectively. For a second, she tensed – Shikamaru prepared to be kneed into his jewels – and then she relaxed. Her thin, bony figure turned soft and pliant in his arms as she kissed him back, leaned against him and up to meet his lips. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent, felt her lips on his, her hair soft under his fingers – and then she pushed him back with so much force he stumbled backwards three steps and almost fell down the stairs.

Ino's lips were red and a blush colored her cheeks. Her eyes shone with a strange mixture of fear, anger and tears.

"Fuck," Shikamaru said, disregarding his prior statement about foul language and fighting the overwhelming urge to kiss her again. When had _that_ gotten out of hand so completely?

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ino demanded, her voice full of unshed tears. "Have you completely lost your mind now?"

"Troublesome woman." Shikamaru reached out and pulled her towards him, despite her furious attempts to get away from him. "Stay still, will you? I don't want to risk personal injuries just because I'm holding you."

She stopped resisting. But in his arms, she still was stiff and unresponsive. "Shikamaru," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "If this is out of pity-"

His jaw almost dropped in surprise. "Pity?" He repeated, incredulous, pushing her back slightly to look in her face. "How could you even _think_ -"

Silence.

"How should I deal with this?" She finally asked. The frantic beating of her heart at his chest belied her calm words.

"I don't know," he said, honestly. "I can't think of anything right now except for that I want to kiss you again. So troublesome."

"And when you're done with the kissing part, are you leaving again?"

"I never left," he protested.

"Not physically." Her blue eyes were grief-stricken, and his heart stuttered in his chest. "But you weren't _there_ , Shikamaru. After your father – our fathers – I didn't know whether…" She broke off her sentence, looked down again, looked up. Her face was so close-

"Tell me what you _feel._ For once, please, and don't lie."

He tasted the words, tested them, pushed them around in his head. They sounded foreign. Alien, like nothing he'd ever said. But they felt _right_ , too. Like he had been waiting to say them his entire life.

"There will never be someone else for me but you."

He would drown in her eyes.

"And I know the feeling is mutual, so can we please get over this embarrassingly troublesome part and move on?"

Her laughter took off like a bird towards the sky, and Shikamaru's heart followed. Ino's lips were sweet and soft. The moment could have lasted an eternity or mere second, he had no idea. It was broken when someone cleared his throat very pointedly, directly next to them. Dazed, Shikamaru looked up and found himself eye to eye with a frowning Fifth Fire Shadow.

"Yes?"

From somewhere behind her, Naruto started laughing madly.

"Could we pass, please?" Tsunade-Sama asked icily and nodded towards the staircase. Ino, crimson, tugged at Shikamaru's side. Without a word, he moved aside.

"Thank you." The Hokage rushed past him, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _Get a room._ Naruto followed, still snickering, winking at Ino conspiratorially and skipping up the staircase to the fourth level. Was it Shikamaru's imagination or had Naruto just given him a threatening look?

"Took you some time," the blonde shinobi almost sang and disappeared behind the next stair head, leaving them alone again.

"God." Ino hid her face in her hands, torn between laughter and tears.

Shikamaru wrapped a strand of her hair around his fingers and touched it to his lips.

Ino slapped his hand away. "Don't do that!"

"Why not?"

She avoided his eyes, blushing again, and muttered something.

"Hm?"

Shooting him a furious look, she repeated, her eyes downcast again: "I'm not used to this!"

Shikamaru stared at her blankly. And then, he threw his head back and, for the first time in what felt like ages, _laughed_. Ino's fists balled at her sides. "Stop laughing at me!"

Still chuckling, he wrapped his arms around her.

"Sorry," he whispered and felt her tremble. How strange how many ways there were to say _I love you_ without actually saying the words.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard his father's hum of approval.

* * *

Shikamaru could cite statistics about his village, his predecessors, his work and about relationships that developed from childhood friendships. He could talk, if asked and willing, about the failures, decisions and good deeds of the living and the deceased, could mention literature about how to lead a village, how to fight the battle that was diplomacy, on how to agree on treaties and what to think of when forming a contract. He would be able to give advice on how to live in a harmonious relationship and how disagreements that had to be overcome were a part of it, on how to return home, on how to raise children and how to advance in a job. He could tell people, if asked, how having good friends and meeting them often, of sharing his life with others, was vital, and how one could grow old in peace along with the people one loved more than life itself. If questioned, he would be able to bolster his arguments with examples, statistics and numbers, as well: it was there, all right in his head.

Right next to the image of Ino, smiling at him, her hair tousled and her eyes radiant and the most beautiful being on earth, and of Chouji, cheerful, opening the next bag of chips and offering them to him.

Shikamaru didn't think there was a way to express human hearts in numbers.


End file.
